One True Friend
by OddLittleBrit
Summary: Arthur doesn't have friends, and humans aren't very good friends. So he sets about making one. When he's inspired by the handsome man at the station, his whole life changes - Human AU, set far in the future, FrUK


**AN: I wrote this for a friend and yeah, I think it came out okay :3 set in the future, and Francis is around 20 years older than Arthur :3 (it'll make more sense once you've read it heheheh) Reviews would be awesome, I'd love to polish this one up :D**

**Also, bonus points if you spot the hidden pairing in here **

**WARNING?: There are human/robot relationships in here**

**DISCLAIMER: Hetalia's not mine :3**

* * *

When Arthur was five, he learnt that people are mean. The children in school are mean, and they laugh at him because he looks different to his brothers and punch him when he tries to stand up to the,. The teachers are mean, and they take him aside of the group and ask questions about home when he doesn't really want to talk. His brothers are mean and the annoy him and bother him and they won't tell him where his mummy and daddy have gone.

So many people are mean, he decided that he might as well be mean back. But what nobody told him was that when you're mean to others, they tend to go away, and when you're mean to everyone, they all go away. So by the time Arthur was six years old, Arthur had no friends. For a while it didn't bother him. He could read his books during play time, eat as fast as he pleased during lunch and do what he wanted when he wanted.

Soon it got lonely though. There was nobody to tell about the new books, because the teachers didn't want to hear it. Nobody wanted to rush him outside to play on the holo-field. Nobody at home cared if he didn't get to bed till the morning. It was awfully lonely. Arthur took to wandering the streets of an evening, spending time watching the people in the world. New people every day, passing through the busy town. There were all kinds, mums, dads, families - workers and business men and AI people; the Artificial Intelligences, the robots.

Arthur was watching one of the AI's one day, at the train station. It was built like a man, tall and muscular, with a mess of blonde hair, programmed to be so wild, there was even one strand that curled above the rest. Had he not turned around, Arthur almost would have thought he were a human. The silver of his skin, or rather, his casing told otherwise, and the fluidity he moved with that no human could match. He was a handsome replica of a man, and Arthur wondered what use he could have. Then he spotted another man, much taller, wrapped in a scarf and coat. The AI waved cheerily at him, and the man came over to greet him. The AI, who Arthur assumed was incredibly powerful, took the heavy looking briefcase from the man, and they left soon after.

Something flickered in little Arthur's heart. Was that the answer? Did AI's have the capabilities to be… friends? Suddenly, and idea blossomed in Arthur. He would make himself a friend, he could make him not mean, make him nice, and make him fun. He could make him perfect!

So the journey Arthur was to take began that day, all he needed now was to make this happen. He could order an AI of course, but that was not only very expensive, but it would be a blank robot from the factory. He wouldn't look any different to the other models, be any more friendly. No, his best friend had to be perfect. His search began, his search for the perfect friend, and it started with a body.

His inspiration didn't hit for a few weeks. In the meantime, Arthur downloaded books on his datapad about AI's and how they worked. He was going to have to do this all by hand - but it couldn't be too hard, right? Back in the 31st century they had to make every AI by hand. He would spend every break, lunch and night reading up on how they were first made, how hair-synthesisers worked, how certain bonding made them durable and even stronger than humans; everything he could need to know. He began thinking up ways he could make his best friend perfect.

"… A good cook, that'll be good… Not very good at winning though, so I'll always be a bit better-" he mumbled to himself as he tapped away on his note application. His brother Lachlann peered over his shoulder. "What the bloody hell is that?" He scoffed, and Arthur pulled the pad into his chest. "It's private!" He said, and the redhead laughed. "Whatever you say lad, whatever you say," he laughed, turning back to the football game. From then on, Arthur did his work in his room.

* * *

It was while sitting in the train station once again, that the model for Arthur's best friend walked into his life. He had been sitting, deliberating on what kind of voice he would give him, when one of the striking voices he'd ever heard floated to him from another table

"I 'ave to say, 'e's being awfully sweet," the voice said, and sweet was something Arthur could only agree with. The man's voice was smooth and beautiful, but Arthur had no idea where it was from. He threw a glance over his shoulder and gasped. The man talking… He was so different! He was unusual looking, not in that he was ugly, just so very different. Handsome, even.

He sat tall, leaning back only slightly in his chair with one arm draped over the shoulders of a pale skinned man, smiling at another, more tanned man. While the two men either side were both something to stare at, it was him, the man with the beautiful voice who stood out. His blonde hair was so light, it shone even in the artificial light of the station, and flowed down his shoulders. It bounced with every little shake of the head which the man seemed to do a lot, looking around and smiling at his two friends. His smile was captivating too, it made his eyes light up in a way Arthur had never seen before, in human or AI.

Arthur let put a gasp, and the pale man must have heard him, because he looked over at him. "Kesese, you've got a fan, Francis," he said, and the man looked up at him. Arthur quickly turned away, but not before those shining eyes connected with his. Arthur's cheeks flushed red.

And it was there and then that little Arthur Kirkland decided his friend would be called Francis. He stayed as long as he could, sneaking glances at Francis, who he could feel staring at him every now and then, so that his image would stay engraved in his mind. Not that he'd forget such a face anytime soon. But he tried his best to remember how tall he was, how his waist dipped in so he seemed incredibly skinny and how his arms were muscular under his shirt - strong, but not strong enough he'd always win, Arthur thought.

Arthur ran home that day, and when he got there he spent three hours drawing.

* * *

By the time Arthur was 12, he had decided what he was going to do for the next seven years in second school. He was going to take mechanics, and he was going to learn how to make an AI. He would take history, to find out how the first AI's came to be and how they would have been made one by one. He would take IT to learn how to program an AI. It was all planned out.

He had amassed a collection now, of images and videos and notes about his AI, about Francis. That would be his name, he decided, his friend's name. He would build him to look and sound like Francis, and make him into a friend. The first AI friend. Nobody at second school spoke to him, it was much like being in first school all over again. Many were the same people, and while the others said hi, Arthur would glance at them over his book, nod, and continue reading. It all died down after a few months.

Even the teachers had little to do with him, when it became apparent he was dedicated to his studies and nothing else. He would spend hours during lunch, before school, after school - any time he could in either the library or the labs. He practiced during engineering how to create AI's that moved like humans, he created little figures that could walk and talk - though he was still yet to find that perfect voice.

During IT he learnt how to simulate human actions and program sub-routines that meant at home, in what had become his work place (though he slept there, on a small bed in the corner) he practiced on his little figures, trying to combine the best programs and data-streams to make his friend.

When he was 14, Arthur came close. His latest attempt had been a ten inch AI, who did not speak, but was practically perfect in it's mannerisms. He was yet to add the right skin tone and hair, and it didn't seem to show emotion, but it moved like a human, had little quirks - it tapped it's foot impatiently if Arthur was too slow to pay attention (Arthur set these limits quite high, so it wasn't very naggy), would swing it's legs when it sat, it even had it's own gait and way of walking.

When he was 17, he made another breakthrough, in finding a way to give his AI the ability to show emotions, though it didn't feel anything yet. It could act grumpy and upset, but when Arthur asked it what was wrong, it assumed he wanted it to stop, and so it became happy again.

When he was 19 though, Arthur found the perfect voice. It was one evening, as he sat at his work bench, he was absently twiddling and turning dials on his soundboard, when something faintly familiar floated from the speakers. He repeated it, and sure enough, it sounded like Francis. He flew into a frenzy, saving and tweaking and perfecting it, until he could finally give his creation a voice. Suddenly, with his third model sitting by his side, work became faster. The little thing would talk to him, remember strings of coding for him, entertain him when he was bored.

He started talking to it, and it started to learn more about the world. It would understand references and be able to make its own conversation when it got quiet. Arthur started to wonder if his AI would need a larger memory.

As he progressed through school, and into third school, Arthur learnt more and more about how programming worked. He knew virtually all there was by the time second school ended. His fourth model had the ability to react to to things in a way that gave it more personality - it would only laugh at certain jokes, became offended if Arthur insulted it - his AI was growing. Slowly but surely, his changes made his AI better and better, Arthur started to use and create technology that was unheard of, as he tried to create an AI with it's own personality, feelings; life.

With the technology completed, Arthur was not far from finishing his creation. Now came the final hurdle, the last leg of the journey - he had to create a life size AI. Within a year, he had almost finished his creation, almost made his AI. Francis.

It was July 14th, just after lunch, that he sat with a small chip in his hand. It was no bigger than a penny. This chip, this set of coding and wiring. This was his heart. His AI lay on the bench, fully built. Empty eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, slender fingers lay still on the table. His wiring was encased in a smooth skin, which in turn was dressed in a navy pair of trousers and a pale blue shirt. Blonde hair fanned out around him like a halo, soft and wavy.

Arthur took a deep breath. It seemed so final. This was it, he was 22 and he was finally going to have a friend. He unbuttoned the shirt and slid off the chest plate. There were an organised mess of circuits, but he knew exactly where it went - right in the centre. He hesitated for a few seconds, chewing on his lip. 17 years of waiting.

With a click, the piece was in place. It took half a second for the AI to recognise this chip, and another half of a second for it to turn on - and so Francis was born.

He smiled up at Arthur. "Bonjour," he said, and he sat up. Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, glanced down at his open chest. "Oh, let me put that away," he added, closing the panel on his chest. Arthur's mouth hung open. Francis looked up at him and his smile turned into a smirk. "But do you want me to put this away?" he said, pointing to his chest and the very toned muscles of his stomach.

Arthur gasped "N-no, that's - you're not meant to be that kind of AI!"

Francis' laugh echoed around the room, and it sounded so real and genuine, Arthur almost couldn't believe he was... artificial. "I know, I know, I just wanted to see how much it'd take to make you blush," he said, hoping lightly off the table. "Not much, it seems," and Arthur gaped.

Francis seemed to be working perfectly, Arthur soon discovered. He could hold a conversation, he would be spontaneous and do his own thing, he would even start arguments if he felt like it. He was virtually human.

Yet Arthur was missing something. He'd spent so long trying to create the perfect friend, now he had nothing to do. Francis came across him one evening staring out of the window.

"Arthur? What's wrong?" he asked, and Arthur sighed. "I don't quite know... " he replied, and Francis frowned too. He didn't seem to have any response, so the AI sat there, fiddling with one of the screwdrivers Arthur had left out. Arthur watched him absently, and as though he felt the emerald eyes on him, Francis glanced up too.

Their eyes met, well Arthur's eyes and Francis' receptors. Still, they were the same blue he had wanted them to be. Yet something was still missing. No matter how Arthur looked at it, something didn't sit right with him. Maybe he was indirectly looking for another project, or maybe he was striving for utter perfection, but Francis wasn't perfect enough. He emulated emotions, had a set that gave him personality - he could even eat. But still, he wasn't perfect. He hadn't got that sparkle, that the man so many years ago had.

He needed Francis to be perfect. He wanted to make him perfect. For many years he had no idea why, why he had to be so perfect. It dawned on Arthur there and then that it wasn't for himself, but for Francis. He wanted him to be happy in his perfect body, give him the best. He'd never break, never falter, never malfunction. Little did Arthur know at the time, but Francis was much more than a friend to him. He was his life.

So he spent years trying to improve Francis. They would have relaxed nights too, just the two of them - Arthur because he had nobody else, and Francis because he didn't need anyone else. He had been programmed to be friends with Arthur, and Arthur alone. They would sometimes go out, spend days in libraries or cinemas or in the park.

During the day, Arthur would bring Francis to his workshop, open his chest up and try to help improve him. He would find things, or make breakthroughs after nights of staying up late that made Francis more intelligent, more lifelike, and while more human he slowly become something so much more.

At the same time, Arthur tried to find the same Francis from years ago. He was yet to find that spark, the light in his eyes, and he longed to give Francis that happiness. He searched, oh did he search. Years passed, almost 20, until one day, while going through old news reports, from his hometown, he found a link. The pale skinned man Francis had sat with won some sort of award, and the article referred to his friend 'Francis Jean Bonnefoy'. He had found him! It took only a week to locate the man himself, and Arthur was surprised to discover his muse lived only in the next town over.

One sunny Friday morning, the 41 year old Arthur Kirkland left Francis with a wave, and hopped onto the next train. The address he had lead him to a bock of flats, number 37 to be exact. He rode the lift to the third floor, quickly pacing while he waited, and almost running to the door. He hesitated for a second. This man would have no idea who he was.

Before he knew it, his hand was tapping on the door. After a few seconds, the hauntingly familiar voice called out "One moment!" It was followed by some rattling, and then the door swung open.

Arthur's mouth hung open, all words lost. It _was _him! He had aged, that was for sure, he had to be around 60 now - his face was marked by age, his hair no longer flowing, but cut shorter above his shoulders and one hand was curled around the handle of a walking stick. His eyes were the same blue though, though at that moment, were glaring at Arthur.

"Francis, right? Francis Bonnefoy?" he asked, holding out a hand. The man looked taken aback, but shook his head. "...I used to be. It's just Jean now," he said, looking Arthur up and down.

"Do I... Do I know you?" he asked. Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Well, not really - I came here to find out who you were... I ah... Can I come in?" he asked. This would be easier to explain sitting down. Jean considered for a second, then nodded. "Alright then, come in," he said, shuffling out of the way.

Arthur thanked him, and soon the two were sat with a drink each, and Jean looked at him expectantly. "So, who are you?"

Arthur gave a small smile. "My name is Arthur Kirkland, and well, this is going to sound odd, but we met a long time ago," he put a hand to his head as he added up the numbers "IT must have been 35 or so years... in a train station, I was 6. You were with two other men, and I saw you-"

"You're him!" Jean said, and his face suddenly flickered into a smile. "The boy, my little fan? It's you..." he said, and then there was that laugh. It spooked Arthur how close it matched Francis'. He had got it right then.

"I wondered who you were for so long," Jean added. "I sometimes thought about you," he said, trailing off.

"I thought about you too. In fact I-ah... I never stopped thinking about you. You were... you inspired me." Arthur said, catching Jean's attention again. He went on to tell him what he had done, leaving out some of the details, but ddescribing how he worked to make an AI with it's own life.

"You were so happy and carefree, so nice. I was never friendly with anyone, and you... you were what I wanted. I had to find you, to see you again," he realised he had been rambling, silencing at Jeans face. He didn't look too carefree now.

"I've changed, Arthur, a lot," he said, and any spark he had ever had was gone, and replaced with emptiness. "I'm not that... carefree, did you say? A lot changed," he said, then waves his hand "You don't need my life story, do you?"

Arthur sat, and for the first time in his life, decided he would be the friend. "No, I'd like to listen. Tell me," he said, and Jean looked him straight in the eye. "You do?"

So Jean told him everything, how it had all been going so well - he had the sweetest boyfriend a man could ask for, Oliver, and Antonio and GIlbert were the best friends he had. It was all great for a while - he and Oliver got married, Antonio opened a bar and Gilbert, well Gilbert was Gilbert. Then it went to pieces.

"Oli... Oliver died. He was in an accident. It was awful," Francis said, twisting at the ring around his finger. "Something changed after that, I was never really happy again... and as much as Toni and Gil tried, I just couldn't. And you know, if you don't work with relationships, they fall apart. Toni moved and we've not spoken since... Gil and I fought, and I can't get to him now... It's all changed," he finished, eyes wandering. They settled on the photo frame on the coffee table, a photo himself and Oliver. He glanced up.

"I couldn't be Francis anymore... hence Jean," Arthur's stomach knotted. He had thought that Jean would be able to help him, to give him the key to that spark. He felt terrible. Jean looked up, and gave him a hoarse chuckle.

"Not much of an inspiration, mmm? You want a friend, it sounds like you have one. Can I give you some advice?" Jean asked, coming forward in his chair. Arthur nodded.

"Go home. Go back to this Francis. He might only be an AI, but from what I hear, you two are friends. You talk about him so kindly, you care about him. Arthur, friendship is friendship, love is love, no matter who or what it is between. I think you've had a friend this whole time. Francis doesn't need a spark. He has you," with that Jean ushered Arthur from his flat, urging him to run, to get back as soon as possible.

"He has a chance, to not make my mistakes, and so do you - for me?" he said, as Arthur stepped over the threshold. The Englishman turned and smiled. "For you... thank you."

The rain bounced of the side walk, and Francis watched it from the window. He wondered idly when Arthur would be back. He glanced up, and caught his reflection in the misty glass. He looked sad. Was he sad?

Yes, he thought, he was. He missed Arthur. He wanted Arthur back here. He liked Arthur to be next to him, Arthur was warm. He sighed, something he knew humans did to express loneliness sometimes. That's what he was, he was lonely. The rain made it worse too, it was cold.

Arthur was out in the rain, Francis thought. Arthur would get awfully wet he thought, and that wasn't a nice thing. _'I should fix that,' _Francis thought - and that is why, when Arthur burst through the door an hour or so later, Francis was sitting by a lit fireplace, with blankets and soup.

"What is this?" he laughed, as Francis pulled him towards the delicious looking meal. "It's for you, to make you warm again, silly," he said affectionately. Arthur climbed down onto his knees and sat next to the AI. Francis picked up one of the blankets and draped it around the smaller man's shoulders. Arthur smiled. Then the smile faltered, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes.

Francis scooted closer, putting an arm out. "Arthur?! What's wrong?" Arthur let out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Francis looked confused. "Sorry? What for?" Arthur ran his hand over his face and let out a soft groan.

"For trying to... change you. Francis, I'm sorry. I kept thinking I had to make you perfect, when look," he said, gesturing to the warm setting around them. "You already are..."

Francis didn't know why his cheeks suddenly turned red, and Arthur let out a chuckle. He moved closer to Francis, and picked up his hand. What was it Jean had said? 'Friendship is friendship, love is love, no matter who or what it is between'... he'd said love. Maybe he wasn't wrong. Maybe...

* * *

Another 40 years into the future, and Arthur and Francis are still together. Both wear rings on their left hand, though nobody officially recognises them as a couple yet. Still, in their 60 odd years together, they achieved something amazing.

Arthur created and introduced technology that changed the world, and Francis paved the way for AI rights, along with holograms and robots across the globe. They became a rich, influential couple who inspired millions.

Now Arthur was dying.

They had spoken about it before, the fact that while Francis could go on forever, Arthur would age and die. He had so, and looked it for an 81 year old man. Like Jean had, he aged very much. Still his eyes were the same emerald green, and even at such an age, he kept most of his blonde hair, even if Francis insisted it was from a bottle. One evening they sat together, Arthur holding Francis' hand in his.

"Look... I'm so old," he said, holding up their hands. While he had the hands that had aged over time, Francis could still pass for 23. His smooth hands squeezed Arthur's.

"So am I, mon lapin..." he said, giving his partners hand a kiss. They said no more about the matter for a few weeks, until Arthur's health took a turn for the worse.

Francis sat by his bedside, stroking his hair as Arthur rested. They sat for hours in a blissful silence, till Arthur asked.

"What will you do? Once I'm gone?"

Francis looked up, a sad smile on his face. "Do you want the truth?"

Arthur gave him a stern look. "You promised never to lie to me, mister," and Francis laughed.

"I... don't plan on doing anything," he said. Arthur sat up a little. "What?" Francis nodded. "I don't plan on... being here," he said. Arthur bolted upright now, a feat for a man of his health. "What do you mean?!"

"Arthur," Francis said, gently pushing Arthur down again. "Arthur, I have friends, oui. I have work, but to be honest, I have lived my life. I lived it with _you_. I _love_ you. And I don't want to spend a _second _without you," he said, holding up his wrist. "I've been working on my own project," he said, with that same sad smile again.

"It's... my off switch, since you didn't give me one. Once it goes, I'm gone forever... I linked it with your heart monitor," he said with a gentle tap to Arthur's chest.

"I won't have to live a second without you..."

Arthur glared at him for a second. Then burst into tears. "You daft... thing," he muttered through tears, and Francis pulled him into a hug.

When he eventually calmed, Arthur looked up into Francis' eyes. He had never found that spark Jean had, but he didn't need to. Francis had his own spark, his own life. Francis was his own person.

Francis was his first friend, his first lover, his first everything. And Arthur wouldn't have it any other way.

Their bodies were found the next morning, entwined together on their bed.


End file.
